Tuesday, October 30, 2007

I Always Believe There's a Penny

Li'l Penny = Guitar Hero
Note the red eyes. Excessive game play or sell out to rock & roll culture?

It's not so bad that she has picked up a new habit and on-screen persona. She named her fictional band "One Cent" (for L'il Penny...get it?)

It's not so bad that she was challenged to a winner-take-all Guitar Shred-off with this guy... and won.

(It was a bit uncomfortable for the Colonel, but not realy so bad when she ended up doing an encore with Slash to the tune of "Salutations from the Rain Forest" or something like that.)

It's not even so bad that she flies through songs and solos that the Colonel & the Blond knew by heart DECADES before she was even born.

No. All of that is fine.

What is unacceptable is the fact that she plays it so much better than me.

I'm going to practice now.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

The Gales of November Come Early

OK, I found the Blond, but almost lost my hat.

The video in the previous post was only the beginning. The waves became ginormous as the day went on.

Scratch the plans for a lake-walk & picnic. Also, nix any ideas about staying in our room, as its ceiling had developed the time-share equivalent of post nasal drip.

So even though highway 61 was washing over in some places, the Blond (who fears NO wave) says, "Let's Vibe up to Grand Marais, just for the fun of it."

But 1st, we had to stop at the guest services center (Motto: We make your Cell Phone Company Look Friendly), and tell them about the leak. On the way in, the Blond and I were fantasizing about how they would take care of our inconvenience. Maybe they would even (giggle with anticipation) put us in a bigger room!

This was their response, which I am not making up:

"Would you like a couple buckets?"

So in true REO Speedwagon fashion, we had to kill some time until the dripping stopped on its own.

In Grand Marais, we decided to have lunch at a popular pizza place named after a couple of Norwegian guys.

Our first sign of trouble should have been the sign posted on the front door sternly admonishing us that they were "Severely Understaffed". Feeling rather guilty about our part in all of this, we went in anyway.

The person behind the counter was, without a doubt, the meanest lady in the world.

It is so much fun to eat at a restaurant where everyone hates you.

Then, to make matters worse, the Blond couldn't immediately find the money to pay her. As she rooted around in her purse, the Lady was wearing a hole in the floor from tapping her foot. Her "huffy breath" was rivaling the wind off the lake.

"what are you doing..." I muttered to the blond, under my breath, "don't mess with this chick...are you trying to get us killed?"

On the other hand, the pizza was pretty good. After chasing my hat down main street, we bought some fudge from a much nicer lady and drove back to our soggy domicile.

The rain had stopped, and it was time for "The Office".

Like an Old Man Trying to Return Soup at a Deli

After a quick meal at Betty's Pies (motto: Come for the Pie...Stay for the Pie...It's in Our NAME so you're going to SIT THERE and Have SOME PIE! Got it, Hon?), the Colonel & the Blond headed up the north shore for some Great-Lake-Themed rest & relaxation.

Except for the leaky ceiling and back-drafting fireplace, we kinda like our little rental studio. It has a huge, ancient concrete dock right out the back door that bears a striking resemblance to an infamous river-spanning interstate bridge.

Naturally, being morons, we had to walk out there.

More accurately, ONE of us had to walk out there. Meanwhile, Miss Gitchee Gumi was not pleased.

I'm still looking for the Blond.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Same Song...Second Verse

They're going to do it again.

You have been warned.

Saturday, October 06, 2007

Black Umbrellas

I have to admit, I have been following the "Death of Lisa Moore" story in the Funky Winkerbean Strip with more than a passing interest. Maybe the Colonel is getting old and losing his famed Vulcanish control over his emotions, but he actually got a bit choked up over this week's climactic installments. (Not that this has become a habit or anything)

Better commentators than I have waxed the elephant about the appropriateness of the story line, the use of symbolism, and even FW's somewhat bizarre transformation from a clever 1970's High School strip to a maudlin, tragedy-obsessed soap offering that would make Bill Shakespeare scream "Lighten UP, Already!"

So instead, we will offer this random observation.

The entertainment industry, for obvious emotional reasons, often portrays graveside funerals in the rain. (or snow)

Where do the guests get all those black umbrellas?

How many of us have black umbrellas laying around so we can attend a poetically staged graveside service?

Does the Funeral Home provide them? Not in our town.

I know from my previous life, that if this scene were to be shot in our local cemetery you would find, rather than a sea of black coverings, a rainbow of brightly colored canopies, with more than one proudly advertising a local beer distributor.